


Oh My God, Look What The Horses Dragged In

by IsVampirismGay



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Drugs, Implied Sexual Content, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsVampirismGay/pseuds/IsVampirismGay
Summary: Mushrooms are great! Can be a wonderful culinary experience, but you have to be very careful while preparing them or you'll end up high off your tits while retrieving top secret documents from an enemy base!
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/d'Artagnan/Athos | Comte de la Fère/Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	Oh My God, Look What The Horses Dragged In

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a play on poison song called look what the cat dragged in which was one of the two poison songs i've listened to on repeat because i needed to simulate brain rot in order to get into the right mindset for writing
> 
> i hope you enjoy this fic cause i think i sacrificed so many braincells to write it

They were summoned to Treville's in the middle of the day, with no more information other than that they have to hurry.

"This is a very time-sensitive mission," Treville told them, "It is of vital importance to France that those letters are taken before they get into Spanish hands."

"Understood," Athos replied seriously. "We'll get on our way immediately."

* * *

They made good progress and by the evening they've already arrived to the vicinity of the fortress. Aramis was taking a look at it through the spyglass.

"I don't see any Spanish," he said, putting the spyglass down. "We probably have one more day left."

Athos nodded. "We should rest now and plan for tomorrow."

They found a clearing and made camp.

"No fire," Athos sternly said as Porthos had optimistically started collecting wood. "It'll be too noticeable in the night."

"Morning?" Porthos hopefully asked.

Athos sighed. "Morning is doable."

"And look!" Aramis exclaimed. "We can even have some mushrooms for breakfast!"

There was a cluster of mushrooms growing a few paces away from their campsite.

"Aren't those poisonous?" asked Porthos.

"Not if you cook them," d'Artagnan answered.

"See?" Aramis said.

"Okay, we're having mushrooms for breakfast, but now we need to come up with a game plan," Athos decreed.

* * *

Next morning was chilly and gloomy. Even Athos didn't bother pretending he wasn't thankful for the fire Porthos made and the mushrooms Aramis and d'Artagnan harvested were boiling in the pot in a most appealing way.

"I think they should be ready," Aramis said, poking the meaty bits with a knife.

They ate the mushrooms together with their bread and dried meat, relishing in the warmth.

"Wait," d'Artagnan said before Porthos threw away the mushroom water.

"We should put this into their drinks," d'Artagnan said, a manic gleam in his eyes. "Give them a bit of stomach ache," he said devilishly. "And hallucinations."

"Oh, d'Artagnan," Aramis purred, realisation dawning on his face. "You crafty, horrible bastard." He planted a big kiss on d'Artagnan.

Athos looked at the water.

"Sounds good," he said, smiling like a particularly mischievous cat. "Put it in an empty water skin."

* * *

They crept up to the fortress, looking for the secret tunnel entrance that they've been informed about. Aramis and Porthos had the poisoned water skins dangling from their waists, sloshing lightly.

"Are you sure you've prepared these mushrooms right?" Athos said, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Yes?" Aramis answered.

"Ah," Athos replied. "Because I think I am going to lose my bowels."

"To be completely honest," d'Artagnan added, "I'm not doing much better."

"Are we doing this while sick from mushrooms?" Porthos asked.

"Apparently," Athos replied dryly.

"That is... unfortunate," Aramis added, eyes looking slightly glossed over.

"I think I can see the entrance in the bushes over there," Porthos said.

* * *

They managed to find the tunnel to the fortress, covered by a metal grid. Porthos and Aramis started looking queasy as well.

"We have to jump down," Athos said, eyes empty.

"Yeah," Porthos agreed. He elbowed Aramis. "You're first."

"Why me," Aramis complained as he jumped down.

The rest of them followed. Athos groaned as he landed.

"I'm sick," he said.

"No puking while we're on enemy territory," Porthos said. Athos groaned again.

"The mushrooms were a terrible idea," d'Artagnan complained.

"Let's keep moving," Aramis said and started creeping up the tunnel with a pistol in hand.

* * *

"Clear," Aramis said, climbing into the cellar proper.

"Good," Porthos said, sweating profusely.

"I can smell the breakfast," d'Artagnan said faintly. "They're having eggs."

"And fresh apples," Aramis added.

"I wish _we_ had eggs and apples," Porthos said.

"Focus," Athos interrupted, pressing his sweating forehead to the cold stone wall. He tried plastering his whole body on it, weapons scraping loudly against the stone.

They resumed their progress through the fortress grounds.

* * *

"I can't stand fried eggs and fresh apples," Porthos complained.

They reached a staircase leading up to the ground level.

"Who goes there?"

They all noisily retreated behind the corner.

A set of footsteps carefully descended down the stairs. The man turned around the corner pointing the pistol in front of him.

"Shit!" he exclaimed as he saw the musketeers.

D'Artagnan shushed him, pulling him with them.

"What?" the man said, confused.

"Keep quiet," Porthos said. "Or they'll hear you."

Athos was plastering himself to the wall again.

"Stop breathing so loud," he complained.

Aramis fished for the water skin. "Here, take a drink," he said, offering it to the increasingly more confused guard. "It's important to drink enough."

The man reluctantly took the skin and drank a bit.

"Why is it warm?" he asked.

"We boiled so it wouldn't make us sick," Aramis replied, taking the skin. 

The guard nodded in mild understanding. "Who exactly are we hiding from?" he asked after a pause.

"The eggs," Porthos groaned.

"An' appfles," d'Artagnan added.

"I think I am going to vomit," Athos said, still plastered to the wall. He slowly slid down to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Aramis said, poking him with a leg.

"Mmmph," Athos said.

"Maybe I should get some help," the guard said.

D'Artagnan shushed him again.

"No hehh... helmmm," he said.

"Oh," the guard said. "Okay." He looked at the infiltrators, all of them looking extremely incapable of doing any proper infiltrating. "What are we doing?"

"Eggs," Porthos said.

"Not puke," Athos added.

"Not puke," Aramis agreed.

"Appfhelss," d'Artagnan slurred.

"Let's go," Athos said, pulling himself upright. He slowly started ascending the stairs.

The rest of the musketeers started moving onwards behind him, dragging the guard with them.

"I should go uh," the man said, "Scout ahead." He looked at Athos for a few seconds. "How did you said you were feeling?" he asked, a note of panic in his voice.

"Like puking," Athos answered. "But we don't puke," he added after a beat, with a feeling of determination in face of insurmountable odds.

"Aha," the guard said, despair in his voice. He ran down into the back of the cellar.

"Got him," Aramis smiled as they heard vomiting noises.

They progressed upstairs.

* * *

The stairs to the basement were located at the end of a corridor which presumably went by the kitchen as the smell of food was almost overwhelming.

"Nnnggh," Porthos said, pinching his nose. D'Artagnan nodded in agreement and pinched his noise too.

"Actually, I think it's unbelievably cold," Athos stated, holding his hands under his armpits. He was still holding a pistol in one.

"Maybe we should retreat to a room for a few minutes," Aramis suggested weakly.

Athos walked unsteadily towards the closest door. He opened it abruptly, revealing a storage space. The group piled inside.

Athos shoved the doors close, leaning on them and sliding to the floor.

"Aramis," he said, eyes closed. "If we die because of you I swear I am going to kill you."

Porthos snorted and sat down on a crate.

"We're never eating mushrooms again," he mumbled.

"I dun geddit," d'Artagnan said.

"We cooked it right," Aramis agreed.

"Kill you anyway," Athos said.

They've sat in the storage room for a few minutes.

Athos eyed one of the sacks. "Give me that," he commanded no one in particular.

Porthos kicked the sack towards him.

Athos opened it and vomited loudly into it. He clumsily tied it back together and shoved it to the side, sighing.

"I think I'm at the closest to normal I can get," Porthos said after a while.

"You 'ere neve' nohmal," d'Artagnan said.

"Let's continue," Athos said, raising himself up.

They walked out of the room, looking like a group of drunken bums going home from a tavern.

Athos forcibly straightened himself, pointing his pistol in front of him shakily. They started badly sneaking through the corridors.

* * *

They managed to reach the kitchens where Porthos and d'Artagnan both pinched their noses again.

"Unbearable," Porthos muttered.

They made another few steps towards the kitchen.

Porthos grabbed Athos and broke into a run past the kitchen doors.

"Porthos, don't!" Aramis whispered slowly. D'Artagnan is standing beside him, pinching his nose.

He trudged onwards, dragging Aramis with him.

* * *

Porthos finally slowed down, arriving into the inner courtyard. Athos has given up on trying to keep up with him, electing to let himself be dragged instead. Porthos pulled him up onto his feet.

About a dozen guards had their pistols trained on them.

Porthos' face brightened into a wide smile. "Worry not, gentlemen," he said, spreading his arms. "We mean you no harm!"

Athos stumbled away from him, straight towards one pistol. "Come on then," he said grabbing the pistol and pointing it towards his heart. "But know that I understand this gun better than you ever will."

The man holding the pistol looked helplessly at his comrades. One of them shrugged at him.

"You'll never know what this steel and wood feels," Athos continued. "You don't know what the bullet is afraid of. But I know." He blinked several times, eyes watery. "I know," he repeated in a hoarse whisper.

"It kind of feels wrong to just shoot him," the man told his comrades.

"You can shoot me," Porthos said, a dreamy smile spreading over his face. "I don't think I've ever felt this good."

Athos released the pistol and turned towards Porthos. "Don't!" he cried, draping himself all over him.

Porthos hugged him. "If I have to die," he said "Doing it when feeling this wonderful would end my life in a perfect climax."

Athos squinted at his face.

"Are you saying we should have sex?"

One of the guards coughed uncomfortably. "What should we do?" he asked the others.

"Maybe we lock them into a room?" the other guard suggested.

The rest nodded in agreement.

"Okay gentlemen, can you please..."

* * *

Aramis and d'Artagnan helplessly watched their friends get divested of their belongings and herded away.

"We ha'e t' save theh," d'Artagnan said.

"Nonononono," Aramis replied. "We have to go and get the letters, remember?"

"Oooh," d'Artagnan said. "Ye."

"We have to hurry while the courtyard is still empty," Aramis said and started moving onwards, dragging d'Aragnan by his jacket.

They've stumbled over the mercifully empty courtyard towards the doors on the other side. Aramis attempted grabbing the doorhandle. After a minute or so of failing to open the door he turned towards d'Artagnan.

"My hand's metaphysical essence disagrees with the door," he said.

D'Artagnan opened the door.

"Youuh like a 'orse," he said. "Cahn't hopen doohs."

Aramis nodded wisely. They walked in, d'Artagnan kicking the doors closed. There was a stairwell and they started strolling clumsily towards it. Aramis stopped just in front of the first step, staring at it.

"Like a 'orse," d'Artagnan repeated. "Cahn't walk the stehs."

Aramis slowly raised his foot and carefully placed it on the first step, pulling himself up on it.

"Gheat joph," d'Artagnan said, watching Aramis slowly climb up.

* * *

Porthos and Athos ended up getting locked into a room in the first floor. It didn't have much in terms of furniture, just an old scribe's table and chair, both covered by a dusty cloth.

Porthos walked up to it, taking the cloth off and making both of them cough from dust. He sat down on the chair, leaning on the table. He caressed the wood with his gloved hands and then leaned on it with his head.

"Mmm," he said.

Athos made his way to the window, peeking through. He swayed slightly and gripped the metal bars in panic.

"The wood," Porthos mumbled, rubbing his cheek against the desk. "It speaks to me."

Athos' grip on the bars became even tighter.

"Shut up," he whispered. "Or I'm falling down."

"Do you know the wood?" Porthos asked.

"Aah," Athos said, slightly swaying. "You almost blew me off!"

"It is hundreds of years old," Porthos continued, ignoring Athos' protests. "It has seen _shit._ "

"Porthos, my dear," Athos mumbled. "If you don't shut up I'm never sucking you off again."

"Traitor," Porthos replied. "Wood would never betray me like this." He kissed the desk.

They spent a few minutes like that.

"Porthos," Athos finally whispered. "We're on a _mission."_

Porthos whimpered, hiding his face into the desk. "I don't wanna mission," he mumbled. "I've made a new friend."

Athos sighed, still gripping the bars. He peered through the window.

"I can see the guards," he said. "They're puking."

"Huh," Porthos said. "The wood feels very ambivalent about it."

* * *

They'd ascended to the second floor. Aramis sagged with relief when he finally planted his feet on the steady floor.

"You see?" d'Artagnan said encouragingly. "Slow an' steady. Like a 'orhse."

"Am I a horse?" Aramis asked.

"Spihreeh- sireehtchu-" d'Artagnan attempted. "Sohl," he finally said, patting Aramis' chest where his heart was. "Sahllion."

"I am God's horse," Aramis said.

"Who's there?"

Doors opened further down the corridor and a guard came through, followed by a middle aged man.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, guard pointing his pistol towards them.

"God's horse!" proudly announced Aramis.

"Sahllion," d'Artagnan corrected him.

"Stallion," Aramis repeated.

The guard lowered his gun.

"What the fuck?"

* * *

"I hate Aramis," Athos mumbled. He was still gripping the bars.

Porthos nuzzled the table. "The wood is not angry," he said. "It is happy to have proper company again. The cloth was such a bore."

"I am tethering on the edge of an enormous drop," Athos complained. "I don't care about your stupid table."

There was a noise of a key being turned and the doors banged open.

"What did you put in the water?" the guard demanded loudly.

Athos' face turned white and swayed a little, knuckled of his hands turning white.

"Everyone is sick!" the guard continued.

"Why would you drink that?" Porthos mumbled. "The wood finds your presence disrupting."

"I'm-" Athos gritted through his teeth, "Going to. Fall down."

"Is it the same thing you two got?" the guard asked.

"Not really," Athos mumbled. "Please fix this horrible architectual flaw. Anyone could fall down and die."

The guard looked at the tiny window that was made even tinier by sturdy metal bars crisscrossing over it.

"Uh," he said, staring at Athos' hands holding onto the bars like they're his lifeline.

"If it's not the same, what is it?" he asked. "How do we fix it?"

"Just ride it out, baby," Porthos mumbled. "No problem in this world is too great that it could not be solved by waiting."

"Except for this hole in the wall," Athos grumbled.

"Wood told me."

The guard looked at Porthos. "Will you stop it with the wood?" he snapped.

Porthos blinked at him. "The wood has seen many a man come and go," he said. "And you're just another number."

The guard kicked the table from under him, yanking Porthos up by his collar.

"Porthos!" Athos shouted.

"Listen here," the man growled.

And promptly received a fist in the face, getting tackled by Athos immediately after.

"Are you okay?" Athos asked.

"Yeah," Porthos answered, looking at his friend lying on top of the now unconscious guard.

"I think we can go out now," he said, looking mournfully at the desk. "I'll miss you, baby," he whispered to it.

* * *

"There's more of you madmen?"

The guard looked at the man. "I think they're accomplices of those two from the courtyard. What do we do with them?"

"Hey, we're here!" Aramis complained. "It's rude to talk about others in their presence like this!"

"'ude," d'Artagnan agreed.

"Stay back!" the guard shouted and threateningly waved his pistol.

"We could lock them up," the other man said, "Question them if there's any sense left in their heads."

"Mean," d'Artagnan complained.

The other man pulled out his own pistol and pointed it at him.

"This is not an end worthy of God's horse," Aramis sighed. "Stallion, I mean."

The man looked at him curiously.

"Why are you a horse?"

"Cahn't walk the stehs," d'Artagnan said smartly. "Like a 'ohse."

"Ah," the man said. "That's all?"

"I'm also potent like a stallion!" Aramis said proudly, gesturing vaguely at own crotch.

"Ye!" d'Artagnan also gestured enthusiastically to Aramis' crotch.

"This bah boy 'as 'onqhrehd many a homan," he garbled out.

"Yeah, look!" Aramis exclaimed, gesturing at his crotch harder.

The man and the guard looked at each other.

"D'Artagnan, be a good lad and unlace my breeches," Aramis said. "My hands' metaphysical essence is on vacation."

"I'm uncomfortable," the guard quietly said.

* * *

Athos and Porthos divested the guard of his weapons and keys, letting themselves out.

"Where do we go?" Porthos asked.

"Away from windows."

They looked around. Porthos squinted at one side of the corridor.

"That looks darker. I think?" he said, pointing with the pistol.

Athos nodded in agreement and together they advanced down that way. There was a turn at the end of it and sound of footsteps.

"Luc, did you find out?" a voice called.

A man walked around the corner.

"You!" he shouted furiously and drew his sword.

Porthos shot him.

"Ah," Athos said. "Interesting how he's still the same man, but dead."

"Yeah," Porthos said. "That's how shooting people works."

Athos picked up the man's unused pistol and took his sword, handing it to Porthos.

There was a stairwell at the end of the corridor.

"Up," Athos said.

"What about the windows?" Porthos asked.

"Windows are below me," Athos said and started climbing the stairs. "Just like death."

* * *

"What do we do?" the guard whispered to the other man. "He's taking out his-"

"I know!" the man hissed back.

He loudly cleared his throat. "Gentlemen," he said sternly.

* * *

"Everything is spinning," Athos complained. "No more stairs."

Porthos nodded in agreement.

"We should be sneaky," Porthos said, dropping down on the floor. "Like snakes."

He put his dagger into his mouth.

"Going to stab people with your mouth?" Athos asked.

Porthos nodded.

"Good idea," he said and put his own dagger into his mouth grip-first.

* * *

"You aasd!" d'Artagnan complained.

"Please," the guard said, sounding like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. "Please put his dick back."

Aramis pouted.

"It's a very nice one!" he argued. "I bet it's nicer than yours!"

"Youh dich is the bessth," d'Artagnan said soothingly.

* * *

Porthos and Athos crawled down the corridor. As they were going around the turn Porthos gently kicked Athos, gesturing at the men holding d'Artagnan and Aramis at the gunpoint. For some inexplicable reason Aramis had his penis hanging out of his breeches.

Athos pointed towards the open doors behind the two men. They crawled inside.

* * *

"I wish I could scrub that from my memory," the guard complained. His commander was just looking extremely constipated.

"You two, put down your weapons," the commander said.

"Sure," d'Artagnan said and pulled out his sword, putting it on the floor.

Aramis tried to grab his pistol several times, failing miserably.

A set of panicked footsteps approached and a pair of guards ran from around the turn.

"The prisoners!" one of them shouted. "Were they here?"

The commander turned around.

"You let those delirious idiots _escape?"_

* * *

Athos put down his mouth-dagger and started rifling through the contents.

"Hey!"

A guard was standing at the threshold, pointing his pistol towards them.

Porthos lunged at him, mouth-dagger first.

There was a scream, a choking noise and more scuffling.

Another guard joined the fray and Athos grabbed the dagger and attacked him with an approximate grace of a walrus.

* * *

D'Artagnan shot at the guard and picked up his sword, lunging at the commander. Aramis also lunged, but he elected to forgo arming himself.

He missed, collapsing on the top of the dead guard.

The fight in the room spilled into the corridor, one guard with a horrible gash in his cheek and Porthos on top of him. With a victorious yell, he managed to knock him out.

D'Artagnan was wildly swinging at his opponent, forcing him into defensive. Athos kicked his guard hard in the crotch and followed by a vicious hit to his stomach, making him double over and vomit.

"Run!" Aramis shouted and bolted for the stairs, immediately tripping and tumbling down.

"Retreat!" Athos shouted needlessly and followed Aramis in equally graceless fashion.

Porthos got up and ran, dragging the still duelling d'Artagnan with him and they followed the other two.

They picked Aramis and Athos up at the bottom of the stairs and ran through the front gates.

More guards noticed them and shot after them, bullets barely missing the musketeers.

They breathlessly reached the little retreat where they made camp last night and leashed horses. They climbed on them and spurred them on.

Except for Aramis who threw himself on his steed which was then led on by Porthos while Aramis vomited, still draped over it sideways.

"The Spanish!" Porthos shouted.

A trail of riders was approaching the fort they've just escaped from.

"Fuuh," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis pulled himself into an upright position and hugged the horse's neck.

Athos groaned.

Aramis started garbling a prayer.

* * *

Taking only one small break, they managed to get close to Paris in just a few hours. The city was already growing on the horizon and both the horses and riders were growing tired.

"I'm parched," d'Artagnan complained. "Do we have any water?"

"I have one skin," Aramis said, offering said water.

"Thanks," d'Artagnan answered.

"Save some for me too," Athos said.

"And me," Porthos added.

* * *

"Unbelievable," Athos groaned.

They abandoned attempts of leading the horses, instead trusting them to know their way to the garrison.

"How did we forget that one's poisoned," mumbled Porthos. His face was drenched in sweat.

"Yeah," Aramis agreed, shaking slightly.

"Ghhnnnn," d'Artagnan said.

"Aramis," Athos said sincerely. "I am going to kill you."

"No you won't," Aramis replied. "I think I'll die first."

"Yeah," Porthos said.

"Fuuuuuh," d'Artagnan mumbled.

* * *

The musketeers at the garrison quickly helped them off the horses.

D'Artagnan puked to the side.

"Treville?" Porthos asked faintly.

Athos nodded and together they half-staggered, half-pulled themselves up to stairs.

Athos knocked once and opened the door without waiting for an answer. The four of them stumbled in, catching themselves on Treville's desk.

"What," he said, appearing from the back with his doublet half undone.

"What on Earth happened?"

"Mission bad," Athos said. "Bad mushrooms. Spanish came."

Treville kept looking at them with open mouth.

"How-" He shook his head. "So you're saying you didn't get the letters?"

They shook their heads.

Treville sighed, sitting down at his table.

"So it was all for nothing." He took a longer look at the miserable, delirious pile that were his Musketeers. "Go home, take care of yourselves," he finally said. "You're in no shape for anything else."

"Thank you, Captain," Athos mumbled. The other three nodded and started pulling themselves up.

"Wait," Treville said. "What is that in your hand?"

Athos looked down.

There was a cluster of crumpled letters still clutched in his hand.

Treville gently pried his fingers open, inspecting the letters.

"It looks like you still managed to complete the mission," he said incredulously. He patted Athos on the shoulder, almost making him collapse on the floor.

"Great job, now go home."

Athos was still staring at him.

"Thank you," he said and then emptied his stomach right on Treville's table.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway feel free to yell at me in the comments or on tumblr, i'm @dropdeadjack


End file.
